The Best and Worst Brother
by shuglove
Summary: The end of something that never should have started.
1. Chapter 1

**The Best and Worst Brother**

"We need to stop," she said, firmly, commandingly, but he could feel her shaking in the bed beside him.

They were four words that he had heard before, and every time he thought he should be bleeding, inside, from how much it hurt.

She had always had the power to rip his heart out, and she had used it frequently when they were small. forcing him to kiss her scraped up knee, help her break into the broomshed, eat dirt and make a house for fairies. Charlie loved her because she didn't realize the power she had over him. Ginny had always been transparent in her motives. She desperately wanted to make him happy, as much as he did her.

All of her brothers wanted her to be happy. Ron had managed to give her pony rides, despite how close they were in size, Percy had read Ginny her favorite stories, but Charlie was certain he was the only brother who noticed how her hair shone when it dried and how her eyes turned to honey in sunlight. He knew everything about her, things he shouldn't, like how her entire body glowed like the setting sun during sex, or how her freckles really were everywhere. And how her brush with Voldemort had left a taint on her soul. His innocent little sister had died his first year at Hogwarts, and the Ginny he knew was more bitter, more depraved, and more precious to him.

"Sooner or later, someone is going to find…we could ruin our whole family," she whispers into the warm darkness that is his bedroom. He can tell by the lilt of her voice that she is disgusted with their recent intimacy.

"Charlie."

"_Charlie," _Ginny repeats, and reaches out a slender finger to trace his shoulder blade, and presses her hand flat against the small of his back.

He shuts his eyes and imagines her hand is a branding iron, or perhaps that her fingertips are blades. She is in every part of him, embedded under his skin, ground into his bones. His heart pumps her blood.

Ginny spoons behind him, fitting perfectly and feeling right and he hates her for it.

"_Char, wake up!" whispered a 4 year old Ginny, the dawn of the day he was leaving for his third year at Hogwarts. _

"_Whaginnygoway"._

"_Char! I have a plan!" she protested, yanking on his hair._

"_Ow! Ok, I'm awake. What?" Charlie cracked one open and regarded his younger sister, whose thin, tiny face was alight with her self-conviction._

"_Put me in your trunk! I can go with you to Hogwarts!"she said excitedly._

"_Won't work. You'll suffocate." He turned over._

"_Chaaaaaarlie." He cringed against his little sister's begging, and steeled himself to be poked again._

_Instead she left with a huff, and finally at breakfast when his mother asked if anyone knew where Ginny was, he realized what she must have done. His bewildered mother chased after him as he sprinted into the front hallway and flung open his trunk. Inside was Ginny, tearstained and with broken bloody fingernails. He dragged her out and into his lap as he collapsed onto the ground, and he kissed each finger as she sobbed into his collar._

Determinedly ignoring Ginny's warm breath on his shoulders, Charlie wonders if that was when it started. When had their bond turned into something so sickeningly perfect? He reached back and awkwardly wrapped his arm around Ginny.

"Then we'll stop," he affirms. He can't tell her yet, not until the last possible moment, and not like this, naked and wrapped around each other.

"Oh, Charlie," she sighs.

He feels her warm breath on his back, and her long eyelashes flutter against his neck. She is crying. And once more loathing for the both of them overwhelms him for how he feels like he's drowning at even the thought of being without her.

_They escape the crowded tent and perch outside on a log, watching the embers slowly expire. She whispers to him in her slightly husky voice about school, friends, the match they have just watched, how she wants to play chaser. The creaminess of her shoulders diverts his eyes from the fire, and Charlie quickly snaps his gaze forward again, shame making his cheeks prickle. And yet he has nothing to be ashamed about, not really. His sister is very pretty, which he is observing entirely objectively, of course._

"_And Hagrid and the unicorn are married now, I imagine his cabin is pretty cramped…"_

"_What? Why are you talking about unicorns?"_

"_To see if you're listening," she giggles. She leans her head against his shoulder and his eyes flutter closed._

He can no longer bear to be in the same room as her, when just a few minutes ago he had been inside her and feeling he couldn't get close enough. Charlie kisses his sleepy sister on the forehead and dresses hurriedly, and next minute is running, running through muggle London, trying to free himself of the pull he feels to crawl back into bed with Ginny.

A few hours later he is dancing with a nameless woman at a muggle club, trying not to compare her to Ginny and failing. After a blur of sweaty skin and sticky lips, both belonging to someone who reeks of rum, Charlie finds himself sitting on the curb of a fairly quiet street, blind to the glimmer of dawn on the dingy horizon, .

"Found you," said Ginny. "I've been looking everywhere."

He couldn't look at her, at the feminine, more beautiful version of himself.

"Charlie. Look at me. Merlin."

He squints at the delicate shell of her left ear.

"Close enough," Ginny mutters.

He chances a glance at her face, and can tell from the set of it that she is relapsing, about to tell him she loves him, about to kiss him-

"I've gotten an offer for a job in Belarus,to be one of the top keepers at the preserve. And I'm taking it."

She jerks like he's hit her, and then she bends so that her hair is a gleaming veil between them.

"Look, Gin. I've not been much of an older brother- well, that's an understatement,"

"You've been the best in the world," she interrupts, with the air of someone speaking a fundamental, undeniable truth.

"Older brothers protect their little sisters. They do what's hard to do so she won't have to, if they can. And I can, and I will, and…... this is the end, Gin." He could walk away again, but he knows he owes her this last day. He opens his mouth to say something to alleviate the harshness of his words, some bittersweet phrase that will give them closure or catharsis...but what could he possibly say? His mouth snaps shut.

"How soon are you leaving?" she asks, like the words are scratching her on their way out.

"Not for a few weeks," he lies. "Mid-August." She relaxes slightly, and he knows that she sees those few weeks as ample time to persuade him to stay. He also knows that she'll be able to. She turns to face him, and her eyes are gold.

"Sometimes… I wonder if there are gods laughing somewhere, or if that muggle karma is right. What we are is a cruel trick, Charlie. It's beyond lust or love. It's the universe screwing with us." Her voice is bleak, empty, and he sees a shadow in her face that he has only seen when he wakes her up from her nightmares. It scares him, this darkness within Ginny.

"Ginny."

"I'll miss you. So fucking much."

_"Ginny"._

She kisses his cheek and slowly walks away from him. Watching the sway of her hips, he realizes he lied twice. Charlie is leaving tomorrow, and there will never be an end to him and Ginny.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a pleasant night, for July. Charlie stands alone in the yard of the Burrow, clutching a glass in his hands and gazing up at the darkening sky, glowing pink and gold. Inside, his family is vainly trying to celebrate, the one-year anniversary of Fred's death that is only serving to make them all feel worse. The door creaks, and Charlie turns to see George, carrying a wooden box and looking hollow.

At Charlie's raised eyebrow, George says, "Going to visit Fred. Care to come?"

"I would've thought you'd want to be alone with him," Charlie hesitates.

"Yeah, well. I don't think Mum wants me to be alone. Besides, I can't see you being too chatty," grins George, and then abruptly stops smiling. Charlie knows why. It feels unnatural after all this time. He supposes that they will all have to practice.

Charlie shrugs in acquiescence, and George walks forward and grips him by the elbow. They spin on the spot and tumble onto a hillside, at the top of which is the grave. They walk towards it quietly, Charlie taking the box George hands him. Just before the grave, Charlie pauses, and watches as George stumbles and falls, clutching the tombstone. George presses his forehead against the stone, lips moving silently, shuddering. Charlie's vision blurs, and he realizes that he is crying, crying, eyes burning and chest aching.

He turns away, looking back at up a blurred and punctured sky. Charlie never has much to say anyways, and there's nothing he can do to make this better.

_Crack! _And it's Ginny. She draws a shaky breath, eyes locked onto Charlie's and it's the first time he's really looked at her in a while. Her eyes looked shadowed, and her naturally angular frame was decidedly leaner than it should be. But she's still Ginny, and looking at her lessens Charlie's pain and makes him feel like he's standing in sunshine. Which is exactly why he tries not to look at her. She has too much of an effect on him.

After a few beats of desperate eye contact, she sways past him, brushing against his side, and she reaches out to the grave, touching it gently. Then she collapses to the ground, eyes dead. There's a bottle of something in her hand, and she takes a swig from it, blankly, and Charlie notes how her collarbones seem sharp enough to break through her skin. Abruptly the pain and loss washes over him again, as much for George and Ginny as for Fred. It's not so much that Fred is dead that is killing Charlie, it's that his family is being pulled into graves of their own, inside their heads.

"…Yes," says Ginny.

At the sound of her voice, Charlie feels again a pull to be near her, touching her, inside her. He mentally crushes it, stamps it down to the deep layer of things he can't think about. The three of them sit on the hillside for a while. How long, Charlie isn't exactly sure, but he jumps when George speaks.

"Box," he says, voice hoarse.

Charlie realizes he's still holding it, much too tightly. He forces his hands to relinquish it to George, too numb to be curious as to what's in it. Charlie and Ginny both jump up at the whistle and boom a few minutes. Ready for battle, wands out, they look wildly about at an innocent looking George, and at the pink pinwheel lighting up the sky. George continues to set off fireworks, and all three of them are grinning, cheeks hurting, laughing at the pinwheels and rockets above them. Charlie keeps his eyes as open as he can, although it's almost too bright to look at. He doesn't want to miss this entirely inappropriate tribute to Fred that is so much more fitting than any memorial.

The fireworks run out and they are left solemn and cold. Charlie glances at George and is transfixed by the bitterness of his expression. George stares back at him, and then looks away, again. All of a sudden it feels as though its time to leave, and quickly. Quietly, the three of them apparate back to the Burrow.

Inside are only Harry, Hermione, and Ron, everyone else having left or gone up to bed. They step inside the tiny kitchen, and Harry immediately is glued to Ginny's side, his concern written all over his face. Charlie immediately resents him for his concern, and tears his eyes away to Ron and Hermione, who are quietly leaning into each other.

Charlie looks into their worried eyes, and they must see something in his face that keeps them from asking any questions. They say goodnight quietly, and walk out into the yard to apparate to their flat, while George trails after them. Charlie glances back at the entwined figures of Harry and Ginny- they are whispering to each other, heads close together. He can't see Ginny's face. He pushes down the wave of jealousy that flows through him, and heads upstairs.

A few hours later he finds himself in the kitchen, a bottle of firewhiskey in front of him. Despite his best efforts to get himself sleepy drunk, something is keeping him hyper-alert. His entire body is thrumming, and Charlie can't seem to slow down his thoughts enough to get a grasp on what's bothering him.

Ginny stumbles into the kitchen, almost like she doesn't mean to be there. Charlie gulps audibly. When he prepares himself for Ginny, he can almost handle her. But this unexpected Ginny is far more than he can control. For a moment she stands still, looking at him. Then she smirks and moves to sit next to him on the kitchen bench.

Charlie frowns. Half of her hair is falling out of its complicated looking twist, and wine or something is dribbled all down the front of her dress robes. Her cheeks are flushed, and her dark eyes are blazing.

"Heya Char," she says flippantly. Charlie looks away. He recognizes this Ginny. This is the Ginny that makes trouble, that played pranks on Ron and stole Percy's head boy badge and is now pressing her knee against his.

"Hey," he replies, hesitantly. "I thought you went home with Harry." He looks at her again, and just catches her grimace at the mention of her boyfriend. But then she grins, and giggles.

"Nope!" she slurs, and is suddenly madly happy. She leans against him, and snags the firewhiskey, gulping down too much, too fast. And it's all wrong, and Charlie has to say something, because he's the only one that's paying attention.

"Gin, what the hell is going on? You're drinking too much, you're too skinny, you seem…" he trails off as her full mouth twists into a frown.

"Is Harry… is he…" he stops. He doesn't know what he's asking.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," she sneers, mockingly, accusingly. He almost flinches at her venomous expression, but instead he reaches out and takes her hand in his.

"You know you can tell me anything," he tells her.

"Anything?" she replies, quirking an eyebrow.

"Anything."

She must be able to tell that he means it, because she gives him a weak smile and then looks down, and he ignores how long and lovely her eyelashes are.

"I'm fine," she whispers and grips his knee under the table. "Go for a walk?" she asks, and he nods.

Outside, they walk close together, heading towards a circle of trees a little ways from the burrow. Charlie feels the heat of her body, close to his, attempts to push it down and fails. His skin feels stretched tight, and the aching, restless feeling he's had all night seems to be getting worse. When they reach the circle of trees, Ginny turns to face him, and Charlie feels his heart stop at the vision of her, gleaming in the moonlight, lips parted and hair flaming, even in the dark. She reaches out a delicate hand, and he weaves his fingers through hers, feeling smooth dry skin and hard knuckles and bones.

They sit underneath an ancient oak, in the very darkness, and Charlie realizes that this whole night he's been feeling anticipation. For Ginny.

"When you asked, earlier, what's been going on" she begins. The sound of her voice is erotic to Charlie, as he can see very little of her. It's a thought that would be easily ignored, but he doesn't bother. He's done fighting.

"I suppose I've just been feeling a bit scattered…Actually Charlie, sometimes I think I'm going bloody _mad_. Like I might hurt someone. I just feel so angry, all the time."

Charlie searches his brain for something to say to reassure her, but the only thing he can think of is that he feels that way sometimes too, and how is that reassuring?

"Except when I'm with you," admits Ginny, so softly Charlie almost can't hear her. Instantly, her words create havoc in Charlie. _Yes yes only with me you're mine mineminemine_ and then he's dragging her to him, hands tangling in her hair, and groaning into her mouth as he kisses her, tongue deep in her mouth. It feels so good he can't think, but she bites his lip, and he realizes what he's doing and snaps back.

"Ginny- I'm so sorry- I can't, I never…Listen, I've had a lot to drink and so- " his fumbling is cut off when she presses closed lips sweetly against his.

"It's not the first time, Charlie," she whispers huskily.

"I really…What?"

She sits back from him slightly, and cups his face in her hands.

"Bill's wedding. You got completely drunk and I was dragging you up to bed- the ministry had finally left- and you kissed me, and then passed out on your bedroom floor," explains Ginny.

"I did?" Charlie asks.

"Yeah. You did." Hesitantly, Charlie reaches out, and clutches her where her waist meets her hipbones. She scoots closer to him, and he wraps his arms around her.

"So what…what are we going to do, Gin? This is wrong, and I'm responsible." As sick as it is, Charlie still feels the protectiveness of an older brother. Nothing is ever his little sister's fault.

Ginny hummed quietly. "Not entirely. I want this too. Besides- one night, Charlie, and we'll work it out of our systems, and forget about it."

Charlie thinks privately that once he gets her, he'll never get enough. But he's not going to quibble when having her is so close. Instead, he tells her something else.

"I love you," he says, and Charlie wonders if she understands, if she can feel it somehow, how he loves her more than he loves anything, like a sister, a lover, that she frightens him and comforts him and makes him glad to be alive.

He doesn't get a chance to elaborate, as Ginny smiles and promptly shoves her tongue into his mouth. She's pressing her hard, hot body against his, pushing him back against the tree. Charlie clutches her hips, too hard, and she gives a breathy little sigh into his mouth that makes him shiver. She sucks and nibbles at his lips, and then sucks on his tongue, hard, and he moans desperately. Her hands are under his shirt, nails scraping gently, catching on his many burn scars. Her mouth moves to his neck, and all Charlie can do is lean his head back and let her press hot open mouthed kisses against the strong cords of his throat. She moves to straddle him, and he moves his hands, squeezing, over her buttocks and thighs. And then she presses against him, and he can feel her, hot and soaking wet through his pants. The physical proof that she wants him excites him further, and he drags her dress and bra down her shoulders licks and sucks on the underside of her breasts, and then sucks hard on a nipple. Ginny shrieks and moves to unfasten his pants, but her hands are clumsy, shaking. So instead he pushes her back onto the ground and, tearing off her underwear, buries his face in between her thighs.

Ginny whimpers and bucks against his face as he sucks and licks at her, and as he presses two fingers inside and hooks them she lets out a little cry. But it's not enough, it will never be enough, and Charlie sucks on her clit and fucks her hard and fast with his fingers and growls against her and she lets go and clenches around him, screaming. He doesn't let her come down, either. He fumbles and unbuckles and unfastens and then is sliding, throbbing and hot and pulsing inside her, slowly, eyes rolling back into his head.

And that's when the truth of her, of them, hits him, and he feels as though he might cry from how right it feels, how perfect. He stops, when he's buried inside her, and presses his forehead against hers. Just being inside her is shaking him down to his bones. They breathe together and his heart clenches and hurts and he feels like he might be dying.

Then Ginny flips them over, long legs hooking on either side of him, and she rides him, hard and deep and impossibly slick and hot. He realizes after a few thrusts that he's been whimpering and moaning and sobbing out how much he loves her, how she's his now, over and over. Ginny doesn't say anything at all, but Charlie can't stop. He needs her to know. He thrusts up into her and reaches a finger between where their bodies join to stroke her, and she squeezes tight around him and fireworks burst behind his eyes as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, screaming, and Ginny screams his name to the stars, to the world.

Ginny sinks down and presses her chest against his, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Charlie closes his eyes and breathes in the musky, dark scent of her. The roots of the oak tree dig into Charlie's back, but he doesn't mind. For just now, they are a man and a woman, together.

"Charlie," she says, fingers stroking his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head in response.

"I never thought I could be this happy," she confesses, and she's crying and smiling against his chest. Charlie grins, himself, chest aching from the glory of them, together.

"Me too," he admits, and laughs.


End file.
